


Dead man walking

by Human_Being



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 23:51:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6447139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Human_Being/pseuds/Human_Being
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'His uncle knew how to torture him, Laurent had to give the fucker that. Instead of inflicting him physical pain, he was left to his reeling mind.' </p>
<p>Laurent's POV on what he thought to be his last night alive, in Ios.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead man walking

 

* * *

 

The pale light of the city at night swept dimly through a window too high on the stone walls to let him see the sky, iron barrels shadowing the square of light on the floor. His prison, dark and a bit damp, the mold mingling with a faint stench of urine even though the cell seemed recently cleaned. 

 

Not a dungeon, this time. No ambush, no blow to his head, no ties on his wrists. No Govart to make him urge a strategy to keep himself alive.There was no hidden gambit between two scenarios where he could win a small victory, work his way to buy himself more time.

 

His uncle knew how to torture him, Laurent snorted. He had to give the fucker that. Instead of inflicting physical pain, he was left to his reeling mind.

 

He was alone. 

 

It was over. ‘Over’, he mouthed to himself, for he couldn’t bear the sound of his own voice right now. 

 

He closed his eyes, a small thud on the back of his head as he hit it slowly on the wall behind him. 

 

It was over. He knew when he faced his Uncle at Kingsmeet, he understood it on his eyes, when he addressed Damen about him. He was not there to negotiate the child, that was never his intention. Neither was his own, though. He knew better than believing his  uncle would trade the baby for Jokaste, and he did know that his best bargain would be taking his uncle’s offer on a trial, but… 

 

He miscalculated the risks. He did not anticipate the possibility - the probability - of his uncle revolving the past to use it against him. 

 

_ Their  _ past. Never even spoken of, after his fifteens. Then he was alone again, more alone than ever, for he was the keeper of a past that was not only discarded, but denied in its very existence. 

 

‘It never happened’, his uncle’s eyes told him the only time he, a boy, tried to gather the courage to ask him why he left him -  _ him  _ \- behind. “My beloved nephew”, he said, and then silence. Nephew, he said then. 

 

And then there was another boy. 

 

How could he make such a mistake? 

 

_ I can’t think _ , he said it so many times. When clouded by rage, by anger, by…

 

Another thud on the wall, a bit stronger this time. 

 

Thinking about that was, at best, futile. Such an useless thing to do when locked up at a cell in Ios, waiting for the public debauchery of his name that would precede his death. Because his uncle would see to that, was so certain of it he had him locked here with not a word. Predictable of his part, yes: Now he would face him only publicly, as the consterned man who took upon him the task of taking care of his orphan nephew, heir of the crown, turned out to be a sly conspirator, a traitor of the kingdom despite his very best intentions... 

 

_ “He had knelt for me”,  _ his fingers dug into the stone pallet he was supposed to sleep in, a bit of dirt got under his nails as he eased his breathing. 

 

He would gain nothing breaking now, under the weight of his memories. 

 

No, he chose that in exchange for Damen, stupid Damen who did exactly what his uncle wanted him to do. Drew a sword, a goddam sword on the only place on the very Earth he would have his head severed off his body solely by doing so; and that’s why his uncle would meet him there, in person, and say to his face what naive little Damen wouldn’t - or couldn’t - realize by his own. 

 

Naive little Damen, who put his life as forfeit to his uncle to defend his honour. His honour, Laurent chuckled humorlessly. Damen, who thought him inexperienced, taintless. Who looked at him as if he was the purest thing in the world. 

 

Laurent scratched his scalp at the stone wall behind him, the pain driving the stray thoughts a bit out of his mind. 

 

Thinking of Damen would not help. Not at all. For he would not come, he could not jeopardize his country’s future for his sake. He knew Damen must not come, but he would want to. Would argue to. Would even fight to come, as if his sword alone could beat the entire kingsguard, Kastor, the Regent himself. 

 

If left to his instincts, Damen would die trying. 

 

Die for him, as if he deserved it. As if he weren’t here to pay for his own path of misdeeds, to take his share of accountability for that distant unspoken past he has lived through. 

 

Damen would argue with him on that. Would say he was a boy, a naive little innocent who could not know to protect himself. He’d name his uncle a monster he really was, say boys can’t play such a game and should never and he’d be right, just as always.

 

And that was what hurt the most. 

 

But it was over. 

 

He tried, hard, played his best game, and… No, he didn’t, he knew that was a lie. 

 

He had let Damen in. Even though he knew it was safer to keep hating him, he let him in. Then he was pushed off his balance, open up to the mistakes his uncle was waiting for. Worst of all, he did it willingly. 

 

He couldn’t even bring himself to hate Damen all over again. 

 

His fingers brushed the golden cuff, his eyes stung. ‘It’s useless’, he mouthed to himself, ‘it’s useless wasting time thinking about what could have been’. 

 

The fuck, though, it that even though he had so little life left, yet he had so much time now. 

 

Auguste died a fast death, a bolt of a sword and life breathed out of him. Not much time to think about shit like he was doing. Would he break, had given time to think about life before his death? Would he surrender, for the sake of those he loved? 

 

He’d never know, and somehow he envied his brother for that. 

 

OOO

 

It was early morning. Laurent was down on his side, eyes half open. He didn’t sleep. Of course he didn’t. His mind worked relentlessly through the night. 

 

A clang on the door, the guards came to fetch him. 

 

His fingers were brushing the gold cuff on his wrist, over and over. 

 

‘It’s time’, the guard said in akielon. He stood up slowly, not offering resistance when approached to have his hands tied on his lower back. The iron cuffs would cover the gold, but he didn’t care much. 

 

It was there, nonetheless. 

 

‘Let’s go’, the guard said, and then in a mock tone. ‘Prince.’

 

A push on his back, he steadied his way through the hall. He’d not trip, he’d not break, he’d not fall. 

 

A dead man walking, yes. But yet dead he’d stand proud. 

 

OOO

* * *

Human Being, 04/03/2016 

 


End file.
